


Iraq or Afghanistan

by mad4cheez



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock AU, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad4cheez/pseuds/mad4cheez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick one shot Johnlock fic based on a tumblr post:<br/>"soulmate au where your soulmate's first words are tattooed on your body and john's says 'afghanistan or iraq?' but sherlock's says 'sorry?' and it's so common he's given up hope of finding the right person. john knows it's sherlock right away but doesn't tell him for fear of rejection"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iraq or Afghanistan

All his life, John Watson’s tattoo had been ambiguous. It had formed in a peculiar way, whereby it could either be read: “Afghanistan or Iraq” as well as “Iraq or Afghanistan.” Most tattoos were rather straightforward, which made Watson’s rare. Every partner he had been intimate with always took a moment to appreciate it.

If asked, he would have argued that his decision to enlist was entirely independent of his tattoo, but this was not entirely the case. True, his family’s influence and natural sense of honor were certainly the reasons for becoming an army doctor, but Watson, like so many other people, felt within him a drive for his soulmate. The most straightforward way to bring about a situation in which someone might say to him “Afghanistan or Iraq” or “Iraq or Afghanistan” would be for Watson to visit one of them. He wanted to help people and defend what he believed was right, but he tailored his career in hopes of serving in one of the two countries.

The only good part about being shot was the sense of irony. The bullet ripped through the part of his shoulder that was tattooed, and the scar tissue healed in such a way that the tattoo warped, and became more specifically: “Afghanistan or Iraq.”

So when Watson was standing in the lab, and the man with dark hair said, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” he couldn’t quite believe it.

So he replied, “Sorry?”

 

All his life, Sherlock Holmes’ tattoo had been ambiguous. He had been cursed with the commonplace phrase, “Sorry” tattooed just under his left elbow.

When he had turned to drugs to escape the monotony of ‘normal’, those who had seen his tattoo regarded him with pity. This only drove him further into the haze of the needle.

The only good thing about it was that he grew accustomed to the disappointment early on, and was no longer distracted by the search for a soulmate that seemed to consume the majority of people’s lives.

So when John Watson replied “Sorry?” Sherlock didn’t even register the potential implications.

It was only much, much later, when Watson appeared at the pool with a bomb strapped to his chest, that Sherlock even registered Watson’s first words to him.

It wasn’t until Sherlock was standing on the rooftop, mind scrambling for a way to defeat the dead Moriarty, that he realized Watson had probably known all along.

So he pulled out his phone and dialed from memory. Watson answered on the first ring. Sherlock thought about saying it, putting into words what he had only just understood.

But he had a job to do, people to protect; there was no time for what he wanted to say. So he told Watson the only thing he could:

“I’m a fake.”

 

Watson glared at the fresh tombstone. On it were carved letters spelling out the lonely existence he was facing.

He wanted to shout at Sherlock, to smack him across those haughty cheekbones, to shake him and make him understand that it’s just not okay to jump off a building.

He huffed a breath of laughter, imagining the clueless twat’s stupid face, unable to understand Watson’s anger. The smile rapidly faded into a grimace, and he sighed.

“You… you told me once that you weren’t a hero,” he murmured. He paused, trying to find the words he so desperately wished he’d said earlier. “Uhm, there were times I didn’t even think you were human. But let me tell you this: you were the best man, the most human… human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so there.” He rubbed his hands over his face, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I was so alone,” he said, defeated, “and I owe you so much. But, please,” tears pricked his eyes, “there’s just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me.” His voice cracked on Sherlock’s name, and he swallowed heavily. “Don’t be… dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it,” he said desperately. “Stop this.”

Silence greeted his grief.

 

One year later, Lestrade finally managed to drag Watson to a crime scene as a consultant. Lestrade was a good friend to Watson, but it wasn’t the same without… Him. Watson was starting to feel like he needed the cane again, and a heavy weight had settled upon his chest the day he buried his best friend.

So when the pretty blonde witness sidled up to him at the crime scene, he was completely unprepared for her to open with, “Iraq or Afghanistan?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Link to tumblr post: http://sylviatietjens.co.vu/post/84958651038/soulmate-au-where-your-soulmates-first-words-are
> 
> I'm usually a huge Johnlock shipper but when Mary came into the picture I really really liked her so I felt conflicted. I couldn't figure out how to consolidate my two ships in one story until this one!
> 
> (Constructive) Feedback is always appreciated!


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